


not meant for me (never let it show)

by scatteringmyashes



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Character, Asexual Felix Fraldarius, Developing Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pining, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 10:04:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21177626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scatteringmyashes/pseuds/scatteringmyashes
Summary: Felix is ten when Sylvain first brags about kissing a girl. Felix tells him that it's gross. Sylvain ruffles his hair and tells him he'll figure it out when he's older.Felix never does.Or: the fic where Felix is ace, Sylvain is a flirt, and they try to make it work.





	not meant for me (never let it show)

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Asexual Awareness Week! Have a coping fic! *dabs*

When Felix is ten years old, Sylvain is twelve so he obviously knows everything there is to know about life. Glenn knows a lot too, but mostly about fighting and swords, which Felix likes a lot but Sylvain is better rounded (or something, because Felix is ten and still doesn't quite understand metaphors and why they're funny but that's a story for another day). 

Sylvain is old enough, though, that he knows what flirting is but he's young enough where he still tells his best friend everything, which is why the first thing Sylvain tells Felix when they see each other again is all about the maid he kissed last month. 

"She was so soft! It felt like kissing a pillow," Sylvain says, "Or like… a really nice fur cloak."

Felix makes a face. "That sounds gross. Why would I want to kiss a cloak?" He thinks about his father's elegant fur cloak, his brother's less pretentious half-cloak. Neither of them seem nice enough to put his face up close. 

Sylvain rolls his eyes. "Not like that, but like — she was soft. And warm. Just like all pretty girls." Sylvain lets out the most dramatic of sighs as he flops onto the grass. It's autumn, but the last few trees still cling to their leaves and the first snow hasn't yet fallen. "It was really nice." 

"Are you in love?" Felix asks, because he thinks people only kiss when they are in love and it seems really silly to him, the idea of Sylvain being in love. 

(Sylvain loves horses and lances and getting dirty exploring with Felix, not pretty girls who spend all their time inside and are scared of bugs, because to Felix all girls are scared of bugs except for Ingrid, but she isn't scared of anything.) 

The laugh that Sylvain gives Felix is not unkind, but it is a bit sharp. "Nah, she's just pretty. Sometimes you just wanna kiss pretty girls, right?" 

"I don't think I'm ever gonna kiss girls," Felix says as he made a face. Sylvain sits up just so he can ruffle Felix's hair. It's already messy, but Felix still protests and tries to mash it back down. 

"You're too little. You'll like it when you get older." 

Felix never does. 

#

Felix is thirteen when he first kisses someone. It's not someone he loves, but that's fine. He knows by now that love is temporary from the way Miklan has been thrown out and the way that Sylvain flirts with girls all the time, telling them lies and making promises he doesn't intend to keep. 

The person Felix kisses is Dimitri, because they're best friends (though not as close as Felix is with Sylvain) and neither of them have kissed anyone before. They both agree that it's better for them to kiss one another than to let their first kiss be something they don't know or can't control. 

Felix is sitting in his bed, legs crossed underneath him, when Dimitri kisses him. Dimitri might be the crown prince, but he's also a nervous boy who doesn't really know what he's doing. At first, their lips just press together and neither of them seem all that excited. 

"Is that it?" Dimitri asks when they pull away. Felix shrugs. 

"I dunno, I haven't really seen other people kiss before. Maybe we're doing it wrong." Felix remembers all the times Sylvain has bragged about it, all the times Sylvain seems to think it's so perfect and wonderful, and he's convinced there's something they have to be missing. 

(He's the piece that's missing, he's the one not whole. He just doesn't know it yet.)

"Okay, you try it then," Dimitri suggests. 

"Why do I have to try?" 

"Sylvain tells you everything and he knows how to kiss."

"Why don't we ask him for help?" Felix asks. The two boys consider it. "No, I don't think that's a good idea actually," Felix says as Dimitri shakes his head. 

"He'd just tease us or make fun or something." Dimitri sighs. "This all sounded a lot easier when I was reading about it. Maybe we need something else…"

"What's that mean?" Felix crosses his arms and pouts. "If you wanna go kiss some girl, then go kiss a girl." 

Dimitri snorted. "None of the maids will even come near me because I'm a prince, and can you imagine if I asked Ingrid? No, it's gotta be you."

Felix sighs. Loudly. "Okay, hold still." 

He reaches over, cups Dimitri's face with his hands, and kisses him. This time it lasts longer and their lips fit together a little better. Dimitri has chapped lips, they both do — a consequence of the cold, dry climate that Faerghus suffers from. But it's less awkward, Felix guesses, but still not what he was expecting. 

Where are the fireworks? Where's the warmth in his stomach and chest? Where's the urge to deepen the kiss, to go and do scandalous things like Sylvain is always going on about? Felix mostly wants to go see if dinner is ready or if Glenn will keep showing him that disarming technique from yesterday. 

The two pull apart. Dimitri is breathless. Felix is too, but he just wipes at his mouth and scowls. 

"Maybe it's supposed to only be between a boy and a girl and that's why it feels weird," he suggests. 

"You didn't think that was better?" Dimitri asks. Ever the open heart, Felix can see the way Dimitri crumbles a bit. 

"No, it was better, I just think that it's uh—" Felix struggles to think of a good lie. 

"We just need more practice, I bet," Dimitri interrupts. "Just like with fighting. You weren't good with a sword when you started, right? It's the same with kissing." Dimitri seems so hopeful that Felix doesn't have it in him to argue. He just nods. 

(It's just like fighting, he tells himself later as he kisses a stablehand and doesn't feel anything even with rough hands on his hips and scratches on his chest. It's just like fighting, he says when Sylvain sees later, and he gives Sylvain a smile that's all teeth.) 

# 

Felix is fifteen when he decides he is broken. Oh, not like the boar is broken. Felix is still sane. He's competent. He knows how to fight, how to scowl, how to push people away so they'll never want to kiss him, won't notice that he never looks at others with a certain smile or a casual laugh. So they won't notice that he's broken. 

At least, that's the plan. 

Everything is different now. He doesn't see his friends anymore. Barely considers Dimitri alive. Sylvain is a letter a month correspondence, Ingrid even less so. The Halls are empty even as servants and knights and guards bustle back and forth, back and forth. 

_The poor little lord,_ the whispers go. _Lost his mother, then his brother, and now he's all alone._

(He lost his father too, but nobody dares say that.) 

Nobody is surprised that he throws himself into fighting and he enjoys it, he really does, it's just not a distraction from the way everything is empty around him and inside him. He's good at it, too. Really fucking good. 

"Do you want to become a knight?" The man who wears his father's face asks one night over dinner. They usually don't eat dinner together. Felix is bad at keeping normal hours and Rodrigue is busy taking care of the Fraldarius territory. Not to mention the frequent trips he takes to the capital to meet with the thing that goes by Dimitri. "You're old enough to begin your training, if you would like." 

Felix sets his fork down because otherwise it would give away the fact that his hands have started to tremble in rage. "No," he says through grit teeth and a tight throat. 

"What was that?" 

"I said, no." 

It's clearly not the answer Rodrigue was expecting. He puts his fork down. "Why not? You love to train. You would be able to focus on your skills as a fighter. You could make a name for yourself. I know you miss the companionship of your peers — with the knights, there will be many others your age. And many from good houses." 

"I don't care." Felix is glaring at his plate. He can't look up. He wishes his bangs covered his face, but his hair is pulled back in the same bun he uses to train. He doesn't know how to do anything different. 

(It's just like fighting.) 

"What happened to going to Garreg Mach?" 

"The Academy?" Rodrigue hums. "Well, I was thinking you could some years as a page and then transfer, but if you prefer your tutors here then I suppose two years won't make much difference." 

There's silence for a long while. Felix forces himself to eat with trembling hands. The food tastes like ashes. 

"There has been concern that you may not be able to find a match if we wait until you're at Garreg Mach," Rodrigue says suddenly. It turns the blood into Felix's veins into lava and he feels like he's melting from the inside out. "Of course, I would never arrange a marriage for you — anyone you choose is of your own free will. But you will need to keep it in mind. Most lords marry young." 

There's more he's saying, useless platitudes that melt away like paper umbrellas in rain. Promises that hold threats in their depths. Felix has the ability to choose who he marries, as long as he can have children. He can do whatever he wants, as long as he comes back. He could go to Garreg Mach or be a knight or stay in the city but regardless, he'd be meeting people sooner or later. 

He doesn't have a choice. He never does. 

#

He's seventeen when he realizes he's neighbors with Dimitri and just one door down from Sylvain and he has classes with Ingrid and the other Blue Lions and — 

It's nice. It's actually really nice.

Oh, he hates the boar, and Sylvain gets on his nerves all the time, and the week he goes without getting in a fight with half the school population is the week that he gets sent to Manuela to make sure he's okay, but it's nice. Better than it was back in the empty castle filled with empty people. 

"Hey Felix, where's Sylvain?" Someone from another house — Dorthy? Dora? — asks. She has a big chest and a pretty smile and Felix wants her to never look at Sylvain again. 

"Why should I know?" He counters, crossing his arms. "I'm on my way to train. If he isn't there, then I can't help you." 

Dorthy rolls her eyes. "Oh, Felix, you know more about Sylvain than anyone. If I tell you that I'm looking for him because I need someone to help me with my riding work and Ferdie is busy, does that help?" 

"It doesn't. Now leave me alone," Felix says. He starts walking away but stops when Dorthy laughs. No, not laughs. Giggles. "What?" He snaps, glaring at her from over his shoulder. 

"You know that I'm not interested in him, right?" 

"I told you, I don't care." Felix doesn't. He doesn't care about who Sylvain flirts with or who he sleeps with or the fact that, if he's awake late enough, he can hear Sylvain sneak in and out of the dorms at night. 

Felix is seventeen and has spent three days at Garreg Mach when he realizes that he's in love with Sylvain. Probably has been since they were young, but Felix has only had the words to put everything into context recently. Somewhere between realizing he's just as doomed as Sylvain is, being obligated to continue his line and crest, and between realizing he'd rather die than do that, is when the realization that he's in love comes into play. 

That was three weeks ago. 

So no, Felix doesn't care that Dorthy doesn't want to date Sylvain. First, because he thinks she's lying. Second, because it doesn't matter. 

(Sylvain lost his virginity when he was fifteen and he wrote Felix immediately after, full of too many details and not enough all at once. Felix didn't reply.) 

"If you want to go find him, ask Ingrid. She would know better than I." Felix starts walking away. He doesn't check if Dorthy is following him until he passes the stables. He glances back. She's nowhere in sight.

_Even if he isn't there, at least you'll know,_ some part of him thinks. _I don't care where he is,_ he tells it. 

_Yes, you do._

He turns towards the stables. 

Ashe is there, chatting with Mercedes as they finish their weekly duties. There's a few other students from the other houses, but Felix doesn't know their names and he doesn't care. He does see Sylvain chatting with a girl from a different class, one of his hands holding hers as he shows her how to offer sugar cubes to his horse. 

Felix clutches his hands into fists so it's less obvious how much they're shaking as he marches over. He thinks someone — Ashe? Mercedes? Both? — says hello, but he doesn't hear them. He stalks towards Sylvain, the idiot not even looking over as Felix approaches. 

"You have to be confident, because they can sense hesitation or fear. But once you're confident…" Sylvain grins as his horse eats a sugar cube out of the girl's hand. "There you go!" 

"Hey, idiot," Felix calls over. It says a lot about his friendship with Sylvain that it gets his attention and doesn't earn him a frown. Felix wants to wipe that stupid smirk off his face. "I thought we were training today." 

"You told me you had the afternoon off," the girl accuses, turning her glare onto Sylvain. 

He raises his hands in surrender. "I thought I did too — did I mess up days?" He gives Felix a look. It tells Felix to back off, but it's also got some genuine curiosity. Then again, if Felix needed his help then he's not going to have problems just telling Sylvain to stop flirting and move his ass. 

Felix is also fine lying even if he isn't sure why it bothers him so much, seeing Sylvain with so many girls. 

"Yeah, you told me that we'd go a few rounds today. Come on. Stop wasting your time." Felix buries the worst of the comments in his chest, doesn't insult the girl, doesn't point out that she's the fifth in three weeks. "I'm not waiting for you." He turns around and starts walking off. 

Sylvain lets out a shout and scrambles after him. "Come on, wait up!" 

Felix hates how his heart beats quicker when Sylvain puts an arm around him. He hates even more how it's already too much, crushing him smaller and smaller while also gutting him like yesterday's fish fry. If Sylvain notices, he doesn't say anything. His grin is blinding. 

"So, wanted to spend time with your best friend?" 

"No." 

_Yes._

"Ah, don't lie to me. I know that we weren't supposed to train today. It's okay, you can say it — we spent like our whole childhood together, then we couldn't spend time together for years. You're making up for lost time—"

Felix elbows Sylvain in the side. "Shut up." 

Sylvain doesn't let go. It makes Felix want to scream. They go to the training yard, Sylvain letting Felix dictate what they do, and nobody bothers them the whole afternoon. 

Felix wipes the floor with him. It makes him feel a bit better. 

#

Felix is seventeen and he's killed people and the stupid White Heron Dance is a month away and everyone is asking everyone who they want to ask out, who they hope dances with them, who they want to kiss. Felix hasn't kissed someone for years. He doesn't want to kiss anyone. He doesn't even want to go to the stupid dance, but that doesn't mean he can avoid it. 

Unfortunately, he still has to go to class, so he's stuck waiting for the professor while Ingrid, Mercedes, Annette, and Dorothea — who joined their class a few weeks ago with a smile and sway of her hips — chat. 

"I heard that Lorenz got turned down by Marianne of all people," Mercedes says. 

"Lorenz asked out _Marianne_?" Annette sounds more shocked by that than anything else. "Are you sure you heard that right?" 

"Are you going to ask anyone to the dance?" Ingrid asks, changing the topic. Annette shakes her head as Mercedes giggles. 

"Annette and I are going together as friends," Mercedes explains. "What about you? Or you, Dorothea? I'm sure there's plenty of boys who want to go with you." 

Dorothea waves a hand. "Oh, you know what it's like. I think I'll just spend the whole night explaining things to Petra. She's never been to a dance like this before." Then she turns and looks right at Felix and he cannot run, glare, or argue himself out of what comes next. "What about you, Felix? Are you asking anyone?" 

"No," he says, because that's the truth and that's what matters. Besides, she must know that no one would ever agree to go with him. He's dour, a rotten grape in the bunch that makes up the Blue Lions. "I don't even want to go." 

"But you don't have a choice," Sylvain says as he glides into the seat next to Felix. "We're talking about the dance, right?" 

Dorothea turns that smile onto Sylvain, which should make Felix breathe a sigh of relief but instead all he does is grimace a little more. "Yes, we are. In fact, I wanted to ask who you're taking." 

Because it's Sylvain, so of course he's bringing someone with him to the dance. He probably has a list of girls that he's going through, trying to find which one is desperate enough to say they love him or kiss him or something equally vile.

"I dunno. Hey, Felix, you have a date yet?" 

Felix isn't holding anything, so he resorts to dropping his hand onto the table with a loud smack. "What?"

"You heard me. You wanna go to the Heron Ball with me?" 

Mercedes and Annette are both giggling. Ingrid looks like her birthday has come early. Dorothea just has that mischievous smile that reminds Felix all too much of Sylvain. 

Thankfully, Felix is saved the embarrassment of answering — _no_ means that he doesn't want anything to do with Sylvain, that he can't take a joke, that he actually hates the only person he's ever loved but_ yes_ opens up so much more and it's terrifying, a jump into an endless chasm with darkness all around — by the professor walking into the classroom only a little late.

(It's like fighting, just like fighting, and Felix never wants to fight without Sylvain by his side.) 

After class, Felix tries to rush out as quickly as he can but Sylvain stops him with a cocky grin and a _hey, can we talk really fast?_ Like a fool, Felix nods and he waits until Sylvain is done talking with all their classmates. Yes, even Dedue and the boar, even if Felix just glares at them from across the room. Then, finally, Sylvain is ready to head to the dining hall where the best tables and best meals will already be taken. 

"So, you thought about my offer at all?" Sylvain asks as they start walking. Felix, who spent the entirety of classes thinking about his options and wondering if running away to become a street performer is a valid life choice, shakes his head.

"I don't even know what you're talking about," he lies. 

"You know, the dance. Let's go, just the two of us. I won't even flirt with any girls. Okay, I won't flirt with that many girls." 

And _fuck_ does Felix want to accept, but he learnt a long time ago that that promises are just lies that come true later and he doesn't want to make Sylvain a liar. Not anymore than he already is. 

"You're being stupid. I don't care who you go to the dance with," Felix says. He crosses his arms, hands tucked away. "I'm only going because if I don't, Dorothea and Ingrid both threatened to get me on wyvern duty for the next month and if anyone could find a way, it would be them." 

Sylvain's still smiling, but it's off. It makes Felix's stomach twist uncomfortably. A bit like a painting with crooked eyes or a sculpture with too many joints. Something's wrong but it's just outside of Felix's grasp and it frustrates him, realizing that he doesn't know Sylvain as well as he thought he did. 

"No problem. I'll see you there, at least." Sylvain slaps his forehead. "Aw, shit. I forgot something in the classroom. You go ahead of me, I'll catch up." 

Felix watches as Sylvain heads back the way they came. He doesn't wait. 

(At the dance, Sylvain and Felix are both alone. Sylvain dances with a dozen girls, asks three dozen more for their hand. Felix glowers by the punch bowl and almost snaps poor Bernie's head off when she ventures over for a cup.)

(Neither of them enjoy it.) 

#

Felix is nineteen when he's out helping lead a rebellion against an evil empress, his own king dead in body and mind, and his friends all scattered to the winds. He still sees Sylvain, sometimes. Not for long, though, and it's so infrequent that he might as well be a ghost. It's a consequence of their lands being so close together, that even in the frigid cold there's still opportunity to wander in each other's way. 

Sylvain is different. Taller. Broader. According to the gossip, so handsome and charming and even more scandalous. Even though rumors exaggerate, Felix has half a mind to believe them when he hears that Sylvain was caught with a woman in his lap and a man behind him. It's so scandalous, but so expected. He's doing what everyone thought he would and, well, at least people love him. 

Nothing like the little lord of Fraldarius, who sits and sulks and wears anger like a shield so that no one ever gets close. 

_Oh, but he must be sad about his king. He must be sad about his school. He must be sad about his friends._ They think Felix an idiot who cannot hear their gossip, or maybe they don't care. _He's never slept with anyone,_ the maids say. _He's never sent love letters to a secret admirer,_ the pages say. _He doesn't know how to love anyone,_ the castle whispers. 

Felix agrees. He doesn't know what love is. If love is what possess people to kiss and fuck, to make stupid decisions and risk everything for a single person. 

(He knows the feeling of his sword in his hands and blood in his mouth and the sweetest smell is ashes because that means the fighting is over, they're burning the bodies. And the only person he ever wants as his partner in that dance is Sylvain, but Sylvain is gone more often than not.) 

Oh, Felix is liked. He's brave in battle and strong of will and everyone agrees that he will make a great lord when his father dies. He's a great leader already. But no one would every say that Felix Fraldarius is a loveable man. 

He cuts down half a dozen Imperial soldiers that day in an ambush that scores his forces three barrels of mead, a wagon, and the warm clothes of dead men. He orders one barrel opened, the clothes distributed, and a messenger sent to his father letting him know that the fucking Adrestians are trying to smuggle supplies and frustratingly well coded messages through Fraldarius territory. Then, he drinks. 

As happens frequently, conversation turns towards what everyone plans on doing when the war is done. 

"I heard that the capital has streets paved in silver and gold. I think I want to see them myself," someone says. 

"That's bullshit," another soldier argues. "Kingdom never had that much gold. If we had that much gold, then the fucking bitch would have torn it all up anyways, then sent it to the Adrestians like the spineless wrench she is. Ain't nothing gonna be left after this." 

Felix likes that they don't bother to censor themselves around him. He doesn't care unless they openly plot treason in front of him. He's even criticized his father before, though not much. Wouldn't do to look fractured during a war. 

A third man speaks up. "I have a farm to the South. It was my father's farm and his father's before that. All the way up to the beginning of time, my family be working that land. An' I look forward to returning to that. Swear to the Goddess I ain't never gonna complain about harvest season again." He gets a few laughs for his honesty. 

"I'm going to get married," a fourth man declares. Felix feels his stomach twist. "She and I made a promise — I come back from this in one piece, she'll marry me as soon as we can get to the church." 

"She pretty?" Someone asks. 

"Beautiful. Eyes like the sun, hair soft like summer flowers, and skin like the palest moonbeams. She's a church girl, all proper and like." 

"So she doesn't know a thing about you," someone teases. Laughter goes around the group. Felix doesn't bother trying to smile. His men are used to his scowl and grimace. A nod is worthy praise from Commander Fraldarius. 

"She and I grew up together. Knew she was the one since she slapped me when I kissed her," the man continues without a care for the teasing the others are giving him. "Ah, I look forward to when we reunite — and, once we marry, then she'll let me take her to bed." 

Felix is going to be sick. 

"You haven't slept with her yet?" Someone asks. 

"No, she swore an oath to wait until marriage." 

"Bloody hell, you should have married her yesterday if she's such a looker. I couldn't be damned with a girl who wasn't willing to do a little before tying me down." 

"Do you two at least, y'know?" A suggestive hand gesture. 

The man who is being interrogated shakes his head. He doesn't look too upset, so Felix knows he has lo let this keep going, lest he toy with the reputation of being a hardass even after a drink. He sits with his men and listens as they talk, which is technically below him, even if he doesn't drink with them when they're in town. He doesn't want to be a total aloof bastard, not when these men need to trust him to make decisions with their lives. 

"Nothing. Pure as snow, she is. But it's worth it. We love each other and I know it'll be sweeter than my Ma's pie when it's all done." 

The conversation spins around and, after a quick consensus that it must take the patience of a saint to wait that long, moves on. 

That night, Felix takes himself in hand and tries to do what he's heard Sylvain and Claude and Ferdinand and fucking _Ashe_ of all people discuss at some point or other. He even wastes some of his precious sword oil trying to make it feel good. 

Physically, he feels warm and a bit light headed, but even after he makes himself orgasm he feels unsatisfied. He feels like he just ate a single bite of what was supposed to be the most delicious meal in all of Faerghus and found out that it's full of maggots. Nothing like some mindless rush or some undeniable urge to keep going, push himself further. Certainly nothing worth dying — or living — for. 

He groans and gets up to clean himself off. He doesn't try again. 

# 

Felix is twenty-two when he sees Sylvain again and for the first time, his heart stops when he sees Sylvain and for a moment he thinks that this is it, this is when he realizes he's not broken, just slow and specific to one person — but it all comes crashing down when he realizes that it's his instincts pointing out that there's an archer aiming right towards Sylvain's stupid, shining armor. 

"Thanks," Sylvain gasps when Felix saves him with a poorly constructed spell. 

"Don't die," Felix orders him as he prepares his sword for the rest of the fight. 

The boar is alive, Felix discovers. So is the professor, and Ingrid, and Ashe, and all the others. Everyone but Dedue, and the boar looks so upset about it that even Felix can't taunt him about it. That night, they all camp in the ruins and catch up. Felix finds himself smiling. He finds himself feeling okay. 

He doesn't even scowl when Sylvain reaches past him, their shoulders knocking and chests bumping together, to get a second serving of stew. There's plenty of room, but Felix figures Sylvain is just being annoying. 

"It's really good," Felix tells Ashe. 

"Thanks! I raided the spice cabinet before I left. No one was really using them properly anyways." Ashe looks a little guilty, but he cheers up as the others begin complimenting his cooking too. 

That night, it feels normal to be on watch while Ingrid's pegasus sniffs around and Sylvain's horse tries to be as obnoxious as possible, because the best way to get her to be quiet is to feed her sugar cubes. Felix finds himself comforted by the sound, reminded of simpler days when his biggest concerns were just whether or not he could pass his certification tests. It also warms his heart — which yes, he does have, even if it isn't used the ways others use theirs — to see his friends there. Even the boar… 

Felix sighs and keeps walking, not letting himself look at where Dimitri resolutely doesn't sleep. No, not Dimitri. His friend is dead, has been ever since the massacre. 

But the boar isn't the only one who can't sleep. Felix is surprised to see Ashe reading a book by the dying embers of the fire, his eyes squinting against the smoke. 

Ashe looks up as Felix approaches and slams his book shut, a bright blush going over his face. Felix glances at the cover out of curiosity, half-expecting something that Sylvain would read. But no, it's just some stupid story about Kyphon and Loog. 

"Still reading those stupid stories?" Felix asks.

"They're not stupid!... And yes, I am reading them." Ashe looks away. "This is the only one Dedue ever read. He preferred to garden or cook when he had free time, but I convinced him… he said that he liked it." 

Felix wants to say something honest and cruel, but he can't think of anything that is more cruel than the knowledge that Dedue is dead. And, well, maybe it's stupid, but he's always had a bit of a weak spot for Ashe. He's an idealistic fool, but he also doesn't deserve half the shit he's been through. 

"What's this one about? Another fake story about how their heroism and bravery saved the day?" 

"No!" Ashe makes a face at him, and for a moment he's a teenager again and they're arguing in the library. "It's about how their love for each other is more important than anything else. Together, they can defeat anything." 

"Ugh. How pointless. That's not how the world works, Ashe. You should know that." 

Ashe frowns. "Well, that's not why I read these books. It's not about how the world is, it's about how the world should be. It shouldn't be dominated by power and anger. We should be open. Loving." 

"Still an idealist," Felix says curtly. 

"Still a cynic," Ashe retorts. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. You've spent the last few years in the middle of the woods fighting. You probably don't even remember what it's like to cry — too tough for that, right?" 

Felix cried when one of his men died by being skewered on a lance right in front of Felix, his mouth open in surprise and his fingers still twitching. He went out to the middle of the forest and cried for an hour. He had sent men home before, too weak or injured to keep fighting, but he had never lost one personally. It was bound to happen eventually, but he hadn't ever thought it would be like that. 

"Yeah," Felix lies, "I don't think I've cried since I was a kid." 

Ashe squints at him. The haze of smoke turns silver hair grey. "I get why Sylvain likes you," Ashe says, which is almost enough to shatter Felix where he stands.

"What is that supposed to mean?" He asks, crossing his arms. 

"Well, he's so used to getting a bunch of lies from everyone, right? But you two have been friends forever and I'm sure you don't have any problem telling him trike it is. Just like the knight in—" 

"I swear to the Goddess, if you compare me to your stupid knight one more time I'm going to murder you myself." 

Ashe rolls his eyes. He stands up and, dammit, he's probably as tall as Felix is now. Was Felix really the only one not to grow during the five year separation? In his defense, he was a bit busy doing other things. 

"You and Sylvain," Ashe declares, "are a match made by the Goddess herself." He walks off to his tent, leaving Felix even more confused than before.

#

He's twenty-two and change, old enough to have killed dozens and young enough to have yet to kill hundreds, when he realizes that he's been in love with Sylvain for five years and not once has the stupid oaf even looked at him funny. 

Okay, there was that time Sylvain grabbed his hand while they were all sitting around the campfire, but it was cold. And maybe Sylvain was constantly sharing a tent with Felix, but that was practical — they don't exactly have a ton of supplies, and doubling up means someone else gets a tent. Then there's the time when Felix had a runny nose and Sylvain hounded Ashe until he finally caved and made stew for a whole week, up until Felix was better and everyone else was sick of stew. 

But they're friends. Just friends. 

Felix doesn't even believe himself. He knows because the whispers follow every time the two of them consult with battalion leaders or walk through the camp arguing about something or just sit and enjoy one another's company in a rare moment of rest. 

_There they go, the two little lordlings deep in love,_ people say, as if Felix lacks ears and sense. _How time passes — they used to be just friends, now they seek comfort in each other's arms. But oh, look away before they see you staring!_

But. But that's the problem. For as many shy smiles they share, as many fingertip touches that pass, they speak naught of what lays between them. It's enough to make a lesser man mad, and Felix must have the patience of a saint because he is only slightly annoyed. 

He's more terrified than anything, and this spark of terror alights when he's training and he sees Ingrid come over with a scowl on her face and a lance in her hands. 

"What do you want?" He snarls, not afraid to chase her away. 

"Let's fight," she says, which is not what he's expecting. "Unless you're too tired." 

"Never, just surprised you aren't out riding." Now that they have the monastery, Ingrid and the other pegasus and wyvern riders have been non-stop scouting. He didn't even know Ingrid was back. 

Ingrid shakes her head as she steps into the ready position. Felix takes that as her agreement and charges.

He starts off sloppy, that's the only way to put it. His first strike is knocked aside with a scoff and he almost gets a blow to his side for his troubles. The shaft of the lance collides with his shoulder and he twists as to avoid losing part of his face. They're both fighting with live steel. It's probably a bad idea. Felix doesn't care. 

He leaps at her, faster on his feet and more steady. Ingrid backs away but only barely parries his strike. The sound of metal on metal rings through the otherwise empty training grounds. It's dark, the only light a few braziers that Felix lit earlier. The light flickers on Ingrid's face, making it difficult to read her expression. He doesn't have time to think as she swipes her lance to the side. 

Felix ducks under it, his knees sliding in the sand. Dust fills the air. He quickly stands, bringing his sword up in time to block another blow. He grits his teeth and shoves her back, stepping within her reach at the same time. Ingrid stumbles away. He's on her in a flash, bringing his sword up to her chest. She spins the lance and forces him to adjust his grip into something more defensive as she just unleashes a flurry of blows at him. 

Left, right, left, down — Ingrid's fast, Felix is a bit tired, and he doesn't know what she wants and that keeps distracting him. He still has an advantage because he's a foot soldier and she's not, but he also doesn't want to kill her if he overshoots and stabs her in the chest. 

Neither of them, Felix realizes as he cuts her hand and she slices his cheek, are really using their full ability.

"Sylvain's upset," Ingrid says. Felix almost slips in the sand. His sword gets knocked out of his hands. Ingrid looks down at him. She pities him, and that's worse than hate. "He thinks you don't like him." 

There's a lot wrapped up in those words. Felix doesn't want to untie it. Too messy. Too many tangled knots, webs of lies and secrets all curled together around his heart. 

"Sylvain's an idiot," Felix replies, because that's his usual response to these kinds of questions. He feels a worm of guilt in his chest, but he shoves it aside in exchange for frustration. He goes to get his blade. 

"Why aren't you two together?" Ingrid asks. 

"Why would we be?" 

"I'm not an idiot, Felix. You've liked Sylvain for years. He's liked you even longer. Haven't you two talked about it?" 

"No." Felix examines the sword. It's just a stupid iron one, not even worth fixing if it were to break, but habit demands his attention. It's fine, of course. It would take more than a tumble in the sand to be fractured. "There's nothing to talk about. It wouldn't work out." 

(It's just like fighting.) 

Ingrid rolls her eyes. "Because you two are nobles? Because crest babies?" 

"Exactly." It's not the whole reason and they both know it. 

"Since when have you cared about your lineage?" It's a good question. Felix doesn't. It's the worst kept secret in Faerghus, probably. "Won't you at least talk to him? He's moping. Like a teenager." 

"Why isn't he the one talking to me?" Felix asks. "Why do I have to do the work? He can come out of his high tower and talk to the rest of us." It's a bit cruel, but he doesn't care what his words do as long as they’re true. He never has. 

Felix sheathes the sword and marches past Ingrid. She doesn't say a word. 

# 

Felix is three days older when Sylvain talks to him. It’s not an ambush, not really, because Felix can see him coming over with a slight swagger in his gait and a smile on his face. Felix is standing in the chapel, glaring at the thing who was once Dimitri. Sylvain waves to some of the others but he doesn’t stop to say hello to any of them. He makes a meandering, but relatively direct line towards Felix. Each step makes Felix’s heart beat faster and, by the time he can see the white of Sylvain’s eyes, he’s pretty sure that his heart is about to just stop out of sheer stress. 

“Hey,” Sylvain says. “Do you have time to talk?” 

(Felix never does.) 

Felix nods. He finds himself, after a quick walk, on the empty side balcony connected to the cathedral. It’s empty. Convenient. 

Sylvain doesn’t seem to know what he’s doing, so Felix is the one who breaks the silence.

“What do you want?” Felix asks. 

“I… wanted to talk about us.” Sylvain frowns. “Ingrid said she talked to you.” 

That’s not how Felix would describe it, but he doesn’t bother correcting Sylvain. He just stares at Sylvain, silently hoping that this is actually about something silly and stupid and not about the way the two of them have been dancing around their feelings ever since the beginning of the war—

“I want to court you.” It’s quite possibly the worst thing Sylvain could have said. 

Hysteria builds in his chest. He wants to cry. He wants to scream.

(When Felix was ten, Sylvain kissed his first girl. When Felix was thirteen, he got a letter about how wonderful it was for Sylvain to lose his virginity. When Felix was seventeen, he fell in love with someone he could never make happy—)

“Felix? Say something?”

“Is this your idea of a joke?” Felix asks, giving Sylvain one more out. One more chance. 

Sylvain shakes his head. He gently places his hands on Felix's shoulders, turns the two of them so he can look into Felix's eyes. Felix hopes that he can't see the fear there. 

Out of his armor, his hands feel so warm. Felix wonders if he can be set on fire from longing. He assumes that, if he could, he would have my now. 

“I wouldn’t do that to you. I — I don’t care what we’re supposed to do. I don’t care about any of it. I keep thinking about you and I know that if something happened and I wasn’t able to tell you, then I’d regret it for my whole life.” 

His words give Felix a glimmer of hope. An idea. A fragment of possibility. 

“We’re in the middle of a war, Sylvain. Now isn’t the time for flirting or courtship. After we win, then we’ll talk.” It sounds so final, in a way. Felix knows his feelings won’t diminish. He’s held this stupid, sputtering, dimming, but never dying and always hot torch for Sylvain since they were stupid teenagers. 

He can only assume, however, that as soon as Sylvain realizes that Felix is serious, then it’s over. Felix will be safe again. 

(_Poor little lord,_ they whisper, _he’s all alone._)

Sylvain looks hurt, but not surprised. “Okay. After the war. Got it.” He’s quiet. “I — this doesn’t change anything between us, right?”

“Right. Why would it?” 

“Good.”

“Good.” 

Silence. The wind cries as it rolls through the mountains. Felix shivers. 

“Oh, are you cold? Here—”

“What, no—” Felix can’t protest fast enough. There’s already a heavy coat around him, even though he’s from Faerghus and grew up in weather so cold that animals froze to death in their stables and birds couldn’t fly from the ice on their wings. 

It’s warm. It smells like horses and campfires and a deep, undeniable musk that’s pure Sylvain. The bastard in question looks at Felix with wide, nervous eyes. Felix should shove the jacket back at him. Instead, he wraps it a bit tighter.

At dinner, no one asks why he’s wearing Sylvain’s jacket. 

#

Felix is not yet twenty-three when he has to watch his father get lowered into the ground in the same ceremony that was held when Glenn's sword was buried. There hadn't been enough of Glenn left to bury. For Rodrigue, his body is in a box and covered by a black shroud. The entire armed forces are present, many having to stand on the area above the graveyard in order to see. There are tears, but not Felix's. He's out of tears to weep. He's running out of blood to shed. 

Dimitri talks to him after. Tried to talk to him before, but Sylvain had put himself between the two and told Dimitri to wait until after the funeral. Sylvain hasn't been more than three meters from Felix at any given time. Everyone is treating Felix like spun glass and he wants to scream. 

"I'm sorry about—" is all Dimitri can say before Felix glares at him. 

"Don't say it. I don't want your apologies. Your words mean nothing to me." Felix grips his sword hilt so hard that Dedue tenses, Sylvain mirroring him. "I don't care. Prove to me that it was worth it. Show me that it wasn't a mistake. Then I might forgive you." 

Felix turns around and leaves. He doesn't say anything as Sylvain follows. 

(_Poor Felix,_ his friends murmur,_ Glenn died and now Rodrigue — and both for Dimitri. Is that what will happen to him too? We can't let that happen to him._)

He's just walking and he doesn't even notice as his footsteps take him to the training yard until Catherine and Shamir both clear out upon a single look from Sylvain. If Felix somehow didn't think people were treating him differently, that would have been the tipping point. As it is, he just grabs a practice sword off the wall — and he's got two real swords hanging on his belt and a dagger in his boot and up his sleeve, he's armed to the teeth, but he doesn't want to use them, doesn't want to use a real weapon — and starts hacking at the nearest dummy. 

It's sloppy. It's bad. He's going to end up chipping or warping the blade or injuring himself out of sheer stupidity. He doesn't care. 

His voice, he realizes, is hoarse from shouting and screaming by the time he throws the ruined blade aside. He falls to his knees. He isn't even crying. He doesn't think he has any tears left. Part of him, Felix realizes with another dull stab in his chest, was always expecting his father to do something like this. 

He can hear footsteps behind him, then a soft thud. Felix turns his neck. There's another practice sword on the ground in front of him. Sylvain twists a training lance in his hands, movements still fluid despite the weapon being an unbalanced piece of shit.

"Come on," Sylvain says. Felix stands, his own knees threatening to buckle out from under him. "Fight something that'll give you an actual challenge." 

It's stupid. It's stupid. 

He's never been known for his smart emotional decisions. 

Felix grabs the sword and charges at Sylvain. He slashes at him, stabs, kicks dirt in his face, and _screams_. Sylvain just blocks the brown, dodges away from the ones he can't stop or redirect, and only just pushes back enough so that Felix knows this is a real person and not some fucked up hallucinations of his best friend. Even as Felix starts taunting him, telling him to stop holding back and to just wreck Felix, to put Felix in his place, Sylvain just has this sad look on his face as he remains on the defensive. 

"What are you scared of? Fight me, you bastard! Push back! Hit me! Make me bleed," Felix rambles, not even out of a desire to be hurt, but out of a desire to feel some kind of passion and some emotion at all. 

He's not even angry. That's the worst part. 

His next attack gets stopped in midair. His sword blade echoes against lance shaft as the metal grates against metal. The ringing in Felix's ears has a physical manifestation. He's gasping for breath. Even Sylvain looks exhausted, sweat covering his face. 

"My… my… Felix…" Sylvain steps forward. Felix lets himself get pulled into a tight embrace. The sword clatters to the ground along with the lance. Sylvain is so warm, so real. "I'm here. I'm here with you." 

Felix clings to Sylvain, a drowning man in a roaring river. "I hate this," he curses. "I hate this!" There are tears in his eyes. He doesn't notice them until Sylvain brushes them away with a gentle finger. 

"What do you want?" 

And that's always the problem. Felix doesn't want anything except what he can't have. He never does. 

"Stay with me," Felix whispers, because the part of him that is sensible is locked away so he won't have to face the fact that his father is dead. 

Sylvain presses his lips to Felix's forehead. "Always."

Recklessly, Felix grabs Sylvain's hair and tugs him down for a kiss. It's just as sloppy as his swordplay — (it's like fighting, it is fighting) — and he doesn't know what to do with his teeth. He's aware of Sylvain's pained gasp and loosens his grip on his hair a bit. Sylvain tilts their heads a bit different and their lips click together. Felix feels a bit warm. He feels content. He can do this. He can deal with this. 

Sylvain's tongue traces softly against Felix's bottom lip and he shoves Sylvain away. They're both breathing heavily and not just because of the fight. Sylvain has it in him to look chagrined. 

"Sorry," he says. "I shouldn't have done that." 

There's no response. Felix instead chooses to extend a hand. Sylvain takes it without hesitation. Slowly, Felix kisses the back of Sylvain's hand. Well, the back of his gauntlet. It's smooth and cold under his lips. 

"Always," Felix echoes. "Will you… can we… just… rest?" 

"Yes." Sylvain and Felix stumble to one of their rooms and fall asleep on the bed without even changing. If asked, they will eventually both agree that the day they began their courtship was the day of Rodrigue's funeral. It's so terribly Felix that no one will be surprised. 

# 

In the following days, nothing changes. They still are friends. They still are partners-in-arms. Nothing changes until one night, when the Blue Lions are gathered 'round a table and eating what could be their last meal before taking back Fhirdiad. Felix has Sylvain to his right and Annette to his left. Even though it's crowded on the bench, he doesn't mind being pressed this close to others for once. This is safe. This is nice. 

"Hey, my dear, can you pass me the bread?" Sylvain asks. Felix reaches for the basket before his brain can process what just happened. Sylvain presses a kiss to the side of his head. "Thanks." 

Ashe actually drops his fork on the floor. The clattering is audible as Felix freezes. The hall is mostly empty, but a few people glance over when Ingrid shouts, "I cannot _believe_ that you two got together and didn't tell me!" 

"When did the two of you—"

"Finally! I'm so happy for you!"

"Oh, it's just like I thought it would happen — did he confess—"

"Congratulations," Dimitri says, a genuine smile on his face. "You two deserve happiness." 

Felix wants to tell him to fuck off, but suddenly Sylvain has an arm around his shoulder and is smiling and _fuck._

_He must think our kiss meant we're together._ The realization hits Felix like Thoron in the middle of a fight. _Does it not? Are we together?_

"Thanks, Dimitri. Right back at you," Sylvain says with a glance at Dedue. Dimitri goes bright red, which makes this whole ordeal worth it, in Felix's eyes. Felix lets himself smirk a bit, actually leaning against Sylvain a bit despite their armor getting in the way. Despite the layers between them, Sylvain is still warm like a comfortable fire. 

Felix never thought that it could be like this. He didn't think that he would ever have this. He lets himself enjoy it, trying not to overthink what's between him and Sylvain for once in his life. 

Dorothea is smiling like a cursed cat from one of her stupid operas. "So, when did you get together?" 

Felix looks at Sylvain. He still hasn't pulled away at all. "Yes, when did we get together? I forget when you asked for permission to court me, Sir Gautier." 

Annette laughs so hard that she starts snorting. The others start cajoling them for information, something fun to use as a distraction during the war, but Felix is tight-lipped and Sylvain is too good at dancing around topics of conversation. Soon the teasing turns to Ingrid and Dorothea, both of whom have been spending quite a lot of time in the stables together. 

The conversation comes to an end and, eventually, Felix and Sylvain are sitting in Sylvain's room. Felix is at the desk, using the chair as a footstool and sitting on the desk. It's odd to still be in the same room that they were assigned back when they were students. It's far cleaner than Felix's, which still has crap from the student days in the corners. 

Sylvain is in his bed, and though he's still in his armor he's at least taken off his gauntlets and boots. 

"I thought Ingrid was going to kill us," Sylvain jokes. "I don't think I've seen her that mad since we were kids. Funny how everyone else thinks that we're so perfect together. Guess that means good things for us, huh?" 

Felix doesn't reply. His sword pommels dig into his side uncomfortably, but his hands start trembling as soon as he thinks about taking them off. He's read books and seen operas. He knows how this is supposed to go. They're in a bedroom together, officially — courting? Seeing one another? Dating? And they've kissed. Goddess knows that they've been friends long enough. Now… 

If Sylvain is discouraged by the silence, he doesn't show it. "Sorry if you wanted to talk about it more though. Just figured with the kiss and everything…" He shrugs. "Well, guess that cat is out of the bag." A curious look at Felix. "You gonna stay over there or are you gonna sit here with me? Promise I don't bite unless you want me to." 

Sylvain's eyebrow waggle helps hide the real reason Felix goes bright red. Something twists in his stomach, reminding him all too much of a dagger between two ribs. 

"I should go," Felix says. He hops off the desk, starting for the door. Sylvain scrambles to his feet and catches his wrist just in time. Felix flinches. He's certain Sylvain can feel his heart beat through his wrist. 

"Wait," he says, "I can stop with all the teasing, if it's making you uncomfortable. It's just — I'm used to it, is all."

Felix looks at him. He has to turn his chin up. "I didn't even know you liked men."

Sylvain licks his lips. "I — not most of them. Not a lot. Don't really like girls either. I — I like you." 

"You could have fooled me," Felix says, perhaps a bit unkindly. Sylvain winces, his free hand scratching at the back of his neck. 

"Yeah, well, sex is a good distraction, same as fighting," Sylvain admits. "But you aren't just a distraction. I really like you, Fe. I have since we were teenagers." 

"Why didn't you say anything?" 

Sylvain shrugs. "You just never seemed interested in anyone. You were always fighting or trying to fight someone. Or bugging me to train." He laughs. "I don't think you talked about anyone, least of all talked about sex or dating. I had no chance." Sylvain's let go of Felix by now. If he wanted, he could run. He doesn't have to stay here. 

"You were always flirting with people."

"Like I said, fighting and sex: sometimes it can scartch the same itch. You fight, I fuck. We—" Sylvain stumbles over his next words. "I mean, only if you want? You're just — you're hot." 

Felix's face burns. He swallows. How hard could it be? Lay down, close his eyes, let Sylvain take the reins — surely Felix could do it, if it made Sylvain happy. It can't be any worse than being attacked, stabbed or sliced or burned or shocked. 

(It's just like fighting. It's just like fighting. It's just like fighting. It's—)

"I don't want — I don't want to have sex with you." It comes out harsh, but it's true. Still, Felix winces when he sees that flash of hurt in Sylvain's eyes. It fades away as he starts nodding. 

"That's fine. Today's been really busy—" 

"Ever. I don't — I don't want to have sex with you ever. Or anyone else," Felix clarifies, as if that makes it better. He prepares himself for the anger, the disbelief, the shouting. There's no way that Sylvain won't be disgusted with him, won't hate him for being broken—

"Okay. Um. Okay." Sylvain runs a hand through his hair. "So, our kiss—" 

"That was fine." Felix thinks about it. "Mostly. I don't think I want to do anything with tongues."

A moment, then:

"Was that your first kiss?" 

Felix makes a face. "I'm not a fucking idiot. No, you weren't my first kiss. Not like I was yours." 

Sylvain mirrors Felix's expression for a moment, before shrugging again. "I guess." His face falls into something more careful, more calculated. It's the expression he gets when he tries lying to the professor (which never works) and the one he used when they were children trying to get out of being punished (it worked sometimes). "Can I ask why? Did something happen?" 

"What? No!" Felix crosses his arms. "No, nothing like that. I just — I just don't. I don't want to have sex. I never have." 

"Like… you knew when we were kids?" 

Felix nods. Sylvain whistles. 

"So… like, you don't _want_ to have sex or you're scared of it or what?" 

The last thing Felix wants to do is talk about how broken he is for the next hour, so he turns around. 

"Wait, Fe, I'm sorry. We don't have to talk about it. If you're okay with it, just — spend the night? I won't even change out of my armor if you don't want me to, but I don't… I don't want you to be uncomfortable." Sylvain sounds so sad that Felix has to turn around. He sighs. His heart is beating a little slower. "I like spending time with you, even if you're prickly." 

"You're an idiot." Felix doesn't let himself think about it too much. 

He steps into the room further and takes his swords off, setting them on Sylvain's desk. His boots go in the corner, neatly aligned with Sylvain's own footwear. Felix also removes his cape and pauldron, setting the cape on the one chair and the leather contraption by his swords. His gloves slide off and rests on the desk. 

He can hear Sylvain also shedding his outermost layers, his armor going on the stand in the corner. The lance of ruin leans in the corner, glowing a faint red. Sylvain notices Felix looking and lets out a nervous laugh. 

"Um, the professor wants us to keep our relics with us yeah? But I don't really know what to do with it, so…" 

"It's fine." Felix only hesitates a moment before taking his hair down. He ties the leather band around his wrist before gesturing to the bed. "I am not cuddling," he says. 

Sylvain holds his hands up in surrender. "I never would have guessed," he replies with a smile. Felix rolls his eyes and gets in the bed. 

He does not cuddle with Sylvain, so it's not his fault if they wake up in the morning facing one another, Sylvain's arms around Felix and Felix's arms around Sylvain. 

#

The war ends with a gift returned with interest. Felix isn't there to see it, but he hears of it. He's too busy making sure Sylvain doesn't bleed out from sheer stupidity. He also misses the majority of the celebrations, because that would mean leaving Sylvain while he magically sleeps off his injury from running in front of berserk warrior intent on chopping Felix into tiny pieces. 

He has a horse. Sylvain Fucking Gautier rides a horse into battle, but in a move seriously stupid and suicidal, he decides to leap in front of an axe for Felix. Sans horse. Buttercup gets out of the battle without injury, which Felix will hold over Sylvain's head for the next thirty years. Sylvain almost bleeds out and his spine is a hair’s breadth away from being severed. It’s only the grace of the Goddess and Mercedes’s power that gets Sylvain out of it without dying. 

In a move that he will complain about until he dies at the ripe old age of 103, Sylvain sleeps through all of the celebration and almost misses Dimitri's coronation. He wakes up two days ahead of the event of the century, Felix reading at his side in clothes that Ashe brought him three days prior. Felix is gross, only stepping out for quick baths in nearby chambers and occasionally to fetch new reading material from the royal library, but that's not what matters when Sylvain opens his eyes. 

"Am I… dead?" Sylvain asks weakly. 

In a move that Sylvain will also complain about, at least until Felix shuts him up with a kiss, Felix drops the book he's reading right on Sylvain's most injured arm. 

"Fuck, sorry," Felix says as he picks it up and sets it on the bedside table. He kisses Sylvain's hand in a rare moment of affectionate worry. Then his anger and fear kick in. "You idiot! You absolute fool. What were you thinking?" 

"He was going to hurt you." Sylvain sounds like someone made him gargle shards of glass, but he's alive. "You would have died." 

"I would have been fine! I'm supposed to run around and take risks like that. You — you weren't even on your horse! Why would you dismount in the middle of a fight?" 

Sylvain gives him a worlong smile. "Because I promised you. It wasn't Buttercup that said she'd die with you." 

"No," Felix growls, hands clutching Sylvain's clothes. "We promised to die _together._ Not for one another or whatever idiotic notion you got in your head. What you did was reckless and almost got you killed. You're lucky that Mercedes knows Physic." 

"I knew I'd be okay," Sylvain lies, because he can't tie to Felix worth a damn. "You were there. You always protect me, don't you, Fe?" 

And Felix, a love smitten fool, can't deny it. He kisses Sylvain's forehead. Sylvain smiles, which makes Felix's stomach warm with fiery butterflies. 

"You're beautiful," Sylvain murmurs. 

"Shut up while I get you a healer." Felix doesn't let Sylvain argue. 

He stands and shouts for a healer, not sure who's on call. It only takes a moment and soon there's someone giving Sylvain a quick glance over and pumping an extra Heal into him. The healer tells Sylvain that he's forbidden from training or any other strenuous physical exertion, giving Felix a look when she says this. Felix flushes from anger and embarrassment even as Sylvain says,

"Nah, we don't do anything like that anyways." It's clear the nurse doesn't believe him, but after a few more instructions — Felix has to keep an eye on Sylvain to make sure there aren't any lingering effects of being in a coma for a week — and another warning, the healer leaves. 

Sylvain smiles that brilliant smile at Felix. "Guess you're stuck looking after me." 

Felix rolls his eyes. "So the same task that I've had since we were children. What a hardship." He realizes that he's back to holding Sylvain's hand when Sylvain squeezes it reassuringly. 

"Well, I'm sure you'll manage to entertain me somehow, though perhaps not as scandalously as the nurses think." 

"Your reputation precedes you," Felix responds dryly. 

The two are silent for a bit until Sylvain asks for help drinking water. Felix carefully sits Sylvain up, plenty of pillows behind him. His entire torso is wrapped so tight in bandages that he can barely move his arms to hold the cup, and Felix ends up steadying it for him. Still, Sylvain looks a lot better once he's gotten some water in his system. 

As per usual, Sylvain is the one to break the silence. 

"Are you okay?" 

"Yeah, I didn't even get a scratch." That's a lie. Felix has a few nicks and grazes, had plenty of close shaves, and there's a wicked burn scar on his right forearm, but he's never been better. Sylvain is safe. That's what matters. 

"I meant — are you okay with people thinking that… that we, you know." 

Felix has never heard Sylvain hesitate to say fuck in his entire life. He exhales loudly. "There's no point in correcting them, and perhaps people will stop talking about the heartless Lord of Fraldarius if they think we are having sex." 

Sylvain frowns. "They call you that because you don't bang people? I always thought it was because you get all serious about fighting." 

"The servants are not as quiet as they think they are." There must be something in Felix's expression, because Sylvain gestures as best he can with his free hand. 

"Come here." 

"You're going to hurt yourself more." 

"I'm fine. Light movement isn't a problem at all." 

"Fine. When you start bleeding through your bandages, you can explain to the nurse, not me." Felix still gets into the bed and gingerly sits next to Sylvain. There's not really enough room for two fully grown men, so Felix is half off the bed, but it's still closer than they've been since the last battle. "It doesn't bother me," Felix lies. 

"Uh-huh. And you don't care when Ashe compares you to one of his knights or when Dorothea teases you about needing someone to kiss or—" 

"What do you want me to say? That I hate being a freak? I’m done here." Felix starts to get up, but the gentlest tug on his tunic stops him in his tracks. 

Sylvain's eyes are so earnest that Felix feels his breath leave his lungs and his throat close up. "You aren't a freak. And I promise that I'll never make you do anything. I'd rather have you than anyone else in the world." 

"That's — that's a big promise." 

(_One more out. One more chance._) 

"It's an oath. Just like our other one." Sylvain smiles a crooked smile. 

“You’re getting the bad end of the deal.”

"No, I’m not.." 

Felix wants to turn him down. It isn't fair to Sylvain and it's only bound to cause heartbreak for both of them. No man, no person, can really go without sex. It's the carnal need of humanity, isn't it? It's what makes everyone human, not art or fighting or building or— 

Or love. 

"Okay." Felix nods. "But — But the moment you get tired or angry or want anything else, then — then you go. I won't do anything like that with you." 

"It won’t happen.”

_Yes it will,_ Felix thinks It’s inevitable. People will talk, they’ll gossip. They’ll call Sylvain all sorts of names for letting Felix be in control like this. There’s no way their friends will understand. And, eventually, Sylvain will leave. Felix will be alone. 

(_Poor little lord. Poor little prince. He’s all alone. No tears left to weep, no blood left to spill._)

Sylvain will change his mind, but Felix still leans against him and decides to enjoy the time he has. There’s no point trying to fight against something outside of his control and besides, he isn’t cruel enough to force Sylvain into a life he wouldn’t want. After all, it’ll only be a matter of time until Sylvain tries to have his way with Felix, tries to have sex with him. 

(He never does.)

**Author's Note:**

> Sylvain and Felix get married. Their wedding night is spent seeing their favorite opera together and then cuddling all night (while arguing whether this version was better than the one they saw back on a school trip). They adopt a gaggle of children and, when Sylvain is the ripe old age of 103, die in their sleep together. 
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr~](https://disasterfelixfraldarius.tumblr.com/)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [love won't wait (I won't mind)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21906535) by [scatteringmyashes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scatteringmyashes/pseuds/scatteringmyashes)


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